Chapter 4
DANTE
I switch between glaring at Alpi and the boy who needs to keep his correct opinions about the drunk priest to himself, and subtly watching Ruby.
This sweet, smart girl who is my unlikely partner, not in crime, but canine-crime prevention.
Not a role I thought I’d ever have, given neither dogs nor law enforcement are my things.
By the time it gets to signing and witnessing, I’m almost relaxed.
The photographers take lots of shots of the happy—oblivious—couple signing, and then the priest beckons me.
I glance across to the maid-of-honour who was the other planned witness, and she’s absent.
Presumably gone to discreetly throw her guts up.
“Come on,” I murmur to Ruby, and avoid my sister’s eyes. My obedient girl gamely stands when I do, and follows me to the table set up with the religious and legal items necessary for a wedding.
The fucking priest—Lucia insisted we flew him out here from London so Francesca could have exactly the outdoor ceremony she’d been dreaming of—is a complete liability, and sways as he guides us to sit side by side at the table.
Ruby efficiently brings Alpi with her. The little menace seems to be warming to her, though I nearly lost it when I saw him humping her leg.
That is not okay.
If anyone should be humping Ruby, it’s me.
I’m not jealous of that furry trouble-maker exactly, but I’d pay quite a lot for Ruby to feed me cheese whenever I ask.
“Sign…” The priest stumbles. “Here.”
Ruby hesitates, unsure, because the priest is not really that certain. The paperwork is in Italian, after all. I glance down, and probably more from luck than judgement, it’s correct.
“Are we sure that’s the right way around for the signatures?” she asks in a whisper.
The priest scowls. “Yesh, of course. And address, age…”
He catches my eye while she’s neatly writing her details, with a superior, dismissive expression that suggests I should laugh at her for questioning him.
I make it clear with an icy stare that he’s endangering his life with that bullshit, and he pales.
He’s lucky that the dog’s disgraceful behaviour has taken most of my ire—I knew he’d be trouble when Francesca named him Al Poochino after a mafia film star she’s too young to know about—and the mutt is above him on the list of people I’m considering murdering today.
I sign after Ruby, and then we both rise. The priest lurches as he walks away, his long robe brushing the table. I take his arm and give it a pat that doubles as both support and warning that if he doesn’t get his shit together, he might find his reunion with God sooner than he expected.
Back in our seats, I breathe a sigh of relief, as the ceremony concludes.
“I pronounce you, husband and wife.”
Everyone claps, and it’s a lovely moment. I should look at the happy couple as they kiss, but my eyes are drawn to Ruby. We share a relieved smile.
My heart flips.
She’s so perfect.
The newlyweds proceed down the aisle to the sound of the string quartet, the music swelling in that way that makes emotion stir in your chest even if you’re cold and dead inside like me.
My niece glows with happiness, and everyone claps.
Francesca’s friends are well enough to follow them with confetti, and if the confetti is in the shape of little guns, it’s deniable.
Next to me, Ruby’s eyes shine.
Delighted guests begin to chatter, and my men posing as ushers direct them to the drinks reception.
Then Ruby gasps, and I follow her gaze to where Alpi is gleefully ripping a paper into strips.
For a second, it doesn’t register. But where is that paper even from? A glance at the table confirms my fear. Not just any piece of paper, no.
The wedding certificate.
It must have fallen onto the floor when the priest lurched against the table and was swept into Alpi’s waiting mischievous jaws by the priest’s robe.
That is what kept him quiet through that tender moment? The little shit. I dive for him, scooping the little terror up with one hand as I tug at the wedding certificate with the other. It squishes and tears, and I watch with dismay as Alpi chews up the remaining part in his mouth.
“Dante!” Lucia hisses, and I find my sister pointedly staring at my side…
Shit. Where my suit jacket has been kicked open by the dog and revealed my pistol.
I conceal it again, but the damage is done.
I promised Lucia no mafia stuff, but I’ll never be without a weapon when my family’s safety is potentially at risk. What if something had happened to Ruby?
It takes me a second to remember she’s not actually part of the family, and that drops heavily into my gut.
“Here, I’ve got the rest,” Ruby says, on her knees and collecting small pieces of soggy paper. I reach down to help Ruby up, but she misunderstands the gesture, and I get a handful of dog-drool-covered paper placed into my palm.
I examine it. It’s almost indecipherable. Does Al Poochino think he’s losing his territory with Francesca? He’s acting like true Italian mafioso, ruthlessly disrupting this wedding.
I lift the little dog up and stare him in the eyes.
If his mission has been to fuck with my girl because I gave his girl away, he’s done an admirable job. One mafia don to another, I respect that.